“Yes, he did,” she whispered. “And I happen to believe him.”
“And what did he tell you, hm?” Dorian asked. “Did he plead his innocence on the matter? Did he tell you that he had no part in the trickery his father pulled on me?”
“He did,” Ellie defended Benedict. “When was the last time you had a civil conversation with him?”
“And why in god’s name would I have one!”
She pressed both hands to his chest and tried to push him a little, to no avail. “Because if you had spoken to him, you would have seen the pain and agony in his face when he recounted that fateful day.”
“The man should have had his name on a poster in Covent Garden!” Dorian boomed. “He is a master thespian!”
Ellie tried another tactic, one she hoped would call to the logic she knew he possessed. “He was a boy like you, Dorian, and I hate these words, but he was of a lesser rank. What motive would he have to betray you?”
“The thirty-thousand pounds my uncle bribed them with!” Dorian growled.
“And you think his parents told him that?” Ellie countered. “What child would agree to stab another child in the back?”
Dorian pushed away with a derisive snort. “I have seen ten-year-olds who have scrapped for survival on the streets and young boys being imprisoned in the hulks. Do you know the savagery that goes on in those places, Evelina? The depravity? Yes, a child would stab another child in the back, quite literally.”
The checked rage in his words broke through her numbness, and for once, Ellie saw a true crack in his armor; she saw pure torment in the eyes of the man in front of her. For the first time, she began to understand Dorian’s complexity.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”
He tensed. “I do not seek yourpity.”
She stifled the urge to scream. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t feel sorry for you, Dorian! I’m sorry that you had to feel that pain. There’s a difference between pity and empathy, and I know youknow that, you—you….butterbrain. You turned Benedict into a scapegoat because you couldn’t get to the real culprits, and you know it!”
“It is over, and so is this conversation!” Dorian growled before falling back into his seat and pouring out more liquor.
Her fists balled at her sides. “Dorian, for a man who survived by reading other people, you have tremendously bungled reading Benedict. If you had half a brain, which I believe you do, you’d be logical and speak with the man. Have you considered that he lost you too?”
Not once did he look at her, and she threw her hands up in frustration. “God above, you’re stubborn.” She headed to the door, rested her hand on the knob, then pivoted to regard him.
“And the worst thing is, I think you know he is innocent, but your pride won’t let you admit it. Please don’t drink yourself into a wheelbarrow. You’ll hate yourself for it in the morning.”
CHAPTER 23
“Lord Carrington awaits you, Your Grace,” Weston greeted Dorian as he stepped into The Labyrinth.
The pounding in his head made Dorian wince. In the past, when he had drunk himself into oblivion more times than he could count, he had always woken up feeling as if one of the Fates had snipped another part of his life away. This time was no different.
“What the devil is he here for?” Dorian groused bitterly. “And since when does he wake before noon?”
“I wish I could tell you, Sir,” Weston intoned.
“Send a pot of coffee,” Dorian ordered his floor manager. “Blacker than the devil’s soul and twice as hot as the abyss he lives in.”
“It shall be sent up shortly, Sir,” Weston bowed.
Striding into his office, Dorian ignored Sterling and went to pluck the shades down one by one until one window that faced away from him lit the room. The headache, already pulsing in the back of his head, threatened to explode to his temples. “What are you doing here?”
“Soused already?” Sterling leaned into his chair and steepled his fingers on his lap. “And here I thought your control was without fail.”
“I am no saint,” Dorian grunted. “What do you want, Carrington?”
“Is there trouble in paradise already?” Sterling ignored the question. “Has the golden honeymoon worn off so soon?”
Dorian was tempted to let out a litany of curses. He was already irritated and on edge, and Carrington’s needling was not helping matters. “I will give you three minutes to explain why you are here before I throw you out the east window myself.”
